


Don't save me

by wolfypuppypiles



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Tony, Temporary Character Death, Whump, Worried Tony, dad tony, like a loooot of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfypuppypiles/pseuds/wolfypuppypiles
Summary: Tony should have asked Peter to stay home. He should have brought his suit. He should have never let Peter take the bullet.





	Don't save me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for three prompts so thank you so much for those! I'm trying to get as many as I can finish before Infinity war releases because once I see it it's going to be all I can think about.

Tony didn’t bring his Iron-Man suit to lunch. Why would he? It was just him and Peter spending some time together after a particularly hard week. 

Peter had been working so hard with patrols and school work, and Tony was so proud of the way he balanced everything and still stayed so positive and ready to help anyone that asked for it. 

Tony should have asked Peter to stay home. He should have brought his suit. He should have never let Peter take the bullet. 

It all happened so fast. They were walking out of the restaurant, smiling about a joke that Peter had made when all of a sudden bullets were flying and people were screaming and running. 

Tony wasn’t sure what happened but soon the gunman was down and a small voice met his ears, shaky and thin. 

“Mr Stark? Are y-you okay?”

Tony looked towards the voice and there was Peter, face creased in worry, sweater...stained with blood. 

Tony reached for him. “Peter-”

The kid didn’t seem to notice the bullet he took to the chest or the growing stain of blood that was soaking through his shirt. He was pale and he wavered on his feet, voice weakening with each word. 

“You don’t have your armour on. I tried to protect yo-”

Tony watched in horror as blood spilt from Peters' mouth, running over his lips before Peter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped like a stone, unable to even finish his sentence. Tony leapt forward as Peter fell back across the steps, blood running down them like some macabre water feature. 

“Peter!” 

His eyes were closed and he was so pale, his lips ashen already. People were still screaming around them and Tony rose his voice above them all as he tapped his watch, activating his AI. 

“Friday, I need medics here, now! Peters down!”

His hands pressed against the bullet hole, fingers slipping in the blood and making his stomach roll with nausea. 

His phone rang, watch buzzing on his wrist but he couldn't draw his eyes away from the blood pooling around his hands to see who was ringing. His hand fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket, dropping it on the step next to Peters bo...next to Peter. 

Friday pushed the call through and Bruce’s voice met Tony's ears, frantic and harsh. 

“Tony, I got the alert. I’m on my way with the med team. What happened?”

 

Tony didn’t know if he could answer. He didn’t know what happened. His chest was so tight and he was trying to push harder on the bullet wound but the blood wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

His voice wouldn’t rise to anything more than a mumble and he tried to untangle the letters as they got stuck in his mouth. 

“They-they shot him, Bruce.”

Sirens wailed in the background and Tony could hear Happy's voice rise over the commotion, ordering people to stay back. 

Bruce’s voice came fast and Tony wished he would get there faster. “I can’t get any readings, he isn’t wearing his suit.”

Peter was growing cold and Tony’s hands were shaking. “We were having lunch and then he- He was just-”

Bruce’s voice came back but Tony didn’t want to hear it anymore. “Check his pulse.”

Peters' chest wasn’t moving under his hands anymore. When had it stopped? Why wasn’t he breathing? 

Tony shook his head. He didn’t want to check his pulse. He didn’t want to know if...because what if he was? “No. I can’t. Bruce, I can’t do it. I need you to fix him.”

Bruce’s voice was hard and insistent and Tony could barely see through the tears filling his eyes. “Tony, do it! 

He didn’t want to look up at Peters' face, he didn’t want any of this to be happening. But Bruce had told him to and so, Tony raised his watery gaze to Peters' face and lifted a bloodstained hand to his pale throat. 

Thump…thump...thu...thump……….  
“No. No, Peter please.”

Bruce's voice was so distant now, Tony could barely hear it over the horrible sounds coming from his own mouth. 

There was red smeared over Peters' throat where Tony's fingers had been and his other hand slipped away from the pool on Peters' chest. 

Tony's hands were dripping blood and Peters' lips were blue beneath the smear of red and Tony couldn't feel his heart beating. It had been there for a moment, only to slip away under his fingertips. He was gone. 

Bruce’s voice was nothing but a warped mix of sounds to Tony, as he slipped his hands under the boy and lifted him. 

“God, Peter. I’m so sorry.” 

He was so small in Tony's arms as he pulled him to his chest and held him, burying his tearstained face into those brown locks of hair. 

Peter wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing, he was slipping away and Tony couldn’t save him. Even if he tried CPR, Peters' ribs were too strong for Tony’s hands. 

There was nothing he could do. 

All other sounds faded away as Tony rocked the boy in his arms, words coming as tearful mumbles that he couldn’t stop. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter. I’m sorry. Please, don’t do this.”

He didn’t know how long he was waiting there, blood seeping into his own shirt, before Bruce's’ hand was on his shoulder. 

“Tony, let him go. We’re here now and we can save him but you have to let go.”

Tony didn’t know if he could. His arms were so stiff, his hands curled tight to Peters form. 

He was shaking, whole body numb, and it wasn’t until Happy knelt beside him that he looked up. 

Happy slipped his hands under Peters' arms and gently pulled him from Tonys hold, voice low and soothing. “Come on, Tony. Give him to me. Bruce is going to help.”

Tony watched Peters limp form being dragged away, laid out on the concrete as the medics swarmed around him. 

Happy placed the kid down, gently as you would handle a baby, before coming back to Tony’s side. 

“You don’t need to see this. We should get you somewhere safe.”

Tony couldn’t reply, he was frozen, staring at the way Peters sweater and shirt were being cut open. Peter loved that sweater. It was his favourite. 

Peters pale chest was uncovered, blood-slicked over his torso, the bullet wound revealed before bandages were being pressed against it. The medics were shouting and flashes of light from camera’s flickered at the edge of Tony's vision. 

Bruce yelled something, slapping pads down on Peters' chest before everyone's hands moved away. 

“Clear!”

Tony flinched at the jolt of electricity that arched through Peters body, sending his chest arching up for a second before it fell back to the ground with a thump. 

The defibrillator whined, shrill and loud before they tried again. 

“Clear! Come on, kid!”

Jolt, thump. 

Bruce's fingers pressed to Peters' throat, over Tony's bloodied fingerprints. “He’s back.”

Tony’s head spun and he felt a blanket being pulled around his shoulders, Happy's hands holding him up. 

Bruce was frowning as he worked, hands moving expertly as he tipped Peters head back and pushed the tube into Peter's mouth, intubating him in record time and attaching the ambu bag to the end. 

“Got it. Let’s get him back to the compound.”

Peter may have been alive but he still looked dead, pale skin, blue lips, closed eyes and limp fingers that Tony wanted to hold. He was so little. 

They loaded him onto the backboard, pulling straps over his bare chest, before pulling the gurney away and lifting him into the ambulance. 

Tony still hadn’t moved. The ambulance was driving away. Happy’s arm wrapped around Tony’s shoulders and pulled him up from the ground, wrapping the blanket more tightly around him. 

Tony felt cold, arms limp and body drained of all energy as Happy pulled him to the waiting car, police milling around and camera’s still flashing. God, reporters could be vultures. A kid had just died on the steps in front of them and all they’d done was take photos. 

Police and security held crowds of people back as Happy slid Tony into the car and put his seat belt on for him. He was silent all the way to the hospital. 

The compound was eerily silent when they arrived. Things were dropped, abandoned and scattered. A cup of coffee spilt over the counter, cup on its side in the mess. A chess game left unfinished, phones forgotten. There was evidence of life, but no one living in it. 

Happy lead Tony to the med bay, their shuffled steps the only sound in the empty, silent hallways. Until they arrived at the operating theatre. 

It was as if time had stopped, the universe holding its breath as it waited to see if Peter Parker would go gently into that good night or if he would cling to life and stay. 

Tony wanted him to stay. 

Steve, Natasha and Sam turned from the window, eyes wide as they looked their teammate over. 

Steve was the first to speak. “Tony. What happened?” 

They were all standing at the window to the operating theatre and Tony didn’t reply, only stumbled forward to see Peter. 

Happy answered the question as Tony stared. “There was a shooting at the restaurant. Peter caught the worst of it.”

Natasha's voice was quiet but Tony wasn’t listening. “Happy, he’s covered in blood. Are you sure he’s not hurt?”

Steve appeared before his friend, peeling the blanket away just enough to press his hands to Tony's chest and stomach, where the blood was soaked through but he found the shirt intact. 

Happy’s voice was quiet as if he didn’t want to speak the words at all. “He was holding Peter. He wouldn’t let him go. I had to pull him from his arms. It was bad.”

Tony didn’t seem to notice the attention and pushed past Steve to press his stained palms to the window.

His eyes locked on to the sight of Peter on the table, nothing but a mess of tubes and blood, hands pressing against him and trying to fix the mess that the bullet caused. The bullet that was meant for Tony.

Bruce was doing all he could, of course, he was, everyone in that building loved Peter but it wasn’t enough. 

The machines began to scream and Tony felt as if his own heart was giving out. Peter was flatlining. Again. 

Sam let out a breath. “Jesus.”

While Happy pulled Tony away from the window, hands insistent even when Tony's feet didn’t want to move. “I don’t want you watching this again. Come on, let's get you cleaned up.”

Tony spoke for the first time since the steps. “I don’t want to leave him.”

Tony didn’t feel the tear fall down his cheek, didn’t feel anything as he watched Bruce try to revive Peter for the second time that day. And Tony didn’t want to leave the boy that saved his life but Happy was right, he couldn't watch it again. 

He couldn't keep staring at Bruce's hands in Peters torn open chest, nothing but an autopsy waiting to happen. 

But still, he didn’t move until a new voice came, out of breath and worried. “I came as soon as Happy called. Whats wr- Oh, god.”

Tony turned from the window, movement coming back to him at Rhodey’s voice and he stood there shaking until Rhodey pulled him into his arms. And only then did Tony break down. 

………..

Time slipped around Tony like a river around a stone and he had no control over the waters that overtook him. 

One moment he was in Rhodey’s arms, trying to find the strength to breathe through his tears, and the next he was sitting, numb, as Rhodey carefully cleaned the blood off his chilled skin. 

It disappeared from his hands, warm cloth dragged over stained skin until the red slipped away. His shirt was peeled from him, chest cleaned dutifully before his arms were too, the ruined garment thrown in the bin before a new one was pulled over his head. 

Rhodey was talking quietly, reassurances that he repeated over and over, whether Tony heard them or not. 

“Bruce is going to take care of him. Peter will be okay, you know how strong he is. Give me your arm for a minute. There you go.”

Hours passed, or days, or minutes, Tony didn’t know, but soon he was sitting somewhere else, a small room with a bed missing. Bruce was kneeling down in front of him, penlight in hand as he swept it over Tony's eyes. 

“Can you hear me? I need you to talk to me, Tony.”

Tony blinked and the light went away. His throat was dry, voice rough as if he hadn't spoken in days. Maybe he hadn’t. 

“Yeah. Where’s Peter? Why aren’t you with him?”

Bruce sighed, placing a hand on Tony’s knee. “He made it through surgery but it was touch and go. There was a lot of damage we had to repair. The bullet entered through the chest cavity and lodged back near his spine. There was a lot of internal bleeding and rupturing, it stopped his breathing and dropped his blood pressure so low his heart didn’t have enough to pump. That's why it kept stopping.”

Tony swallowed his nausea and nodded, noticing for the first time how tired Bruce looked. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

Bruce sighed, exhausted, rubbing a hand over his forehead as he answered. “Yes, he’s okay for now. It was a rough night, I wasn’t sure if his heart would hold out but he’s doing better, especially with the blood we’ve been giving him. The nurses are just finishing up his scans and then they’ll bring him in here.”

Tony looked around the room, pale walls painted a soft yellow that he only now realised that he hated. Peters favourite colour was blue. He should have them painted. 

The light coming from the windows was bright, and Tony realised suddenly that he didn’t know what day it was. “How long has it been since he was brought in?”

“About eighteen hours. Rhodey said you didn’t sleep much.”

Tony didn’t say anything in reply, trying to process all the information he’d just been given. 

Bruce watched him closely as he spoke again. “I’ve been worried about you. We all have. You’re quiet.”

Tony frowned, coming back to himself a little as he looked down at his hands, pristine and empty. “He died in my arms. He was trying to save me.”

Bruce squeezed his hand on Tony’s knee, grounding and warm. “He did save you but he’s okay. You’re both okay.”

Tony didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know how to explain how grateful he was that Bruce had saved Peter once Tony thought he was gone.  
So, he said the only words he could say. “Thank you.”

Bruce nodded before he turned to the doorway at the sound of wheels rolling down the hall. He stood as nurses wheeled Peters bed into the room, careful not to jostle their patient as they slid the bed to the wall and settled him and arranged all his machines. 

Tony’s eyes began to water again as he looked the kid over, taking note of every tube and wire. He was still pale not the deathly shade he had been before. The blood was cleaned away, lips no longer that horrible blue they had been on the steps. 

Tony felt his chest balloon with relief in the same instant that his cheeks wet with tears in grief. The nurses fiddled with a few more things before leaving it to Bruce, who tucked a heating blanket around the teenager as Tony reached forward for Peters' hand. 

The fingers were cold and limp but Tony held them tight anyway, sucking in a breath. “Peter? I know you don’t always listen to me but right now I need you to pay attention, okay? You’re a hero, you always have been. I don’t think you can help it, it's just who you are. But you don’t have to be that for me.”

His voice cracked and he squeezed the pale fingers tighter and his chest ached. “I’m supposed to save you.”

Tony wasn’t expecting to get a reply and though those fingers were weak, they moved. Tony froze, looking down at their hands as Peters weak fingers curled around Tony’s. 

And then his voice came, barely loud enough to hear over the beeping of the heart monitor. “Couldn’t let...you...get hurt.”

Bruce was as surprised to see the kid awake as Tony and quickly pulled his penlight back out, leaning over the teenager excitedly. “Peter? Can you open your eyes?”

Tony held his breath as Peter frowned, face adorably creased in frustration as he tried to lift his heavy lids. 

Bruce swept the soft beam across Peters' eyes as they fluttered open, brown irises peeking beneath his eyelashes as he blinked through his blurry vision. 

Tony was smiling above him as Bruce checked and recorded his new vitals. 

His voice was thick and Peter could see the tears in his eyes. “Why would you take that bullet for me?”

Peter breathed in through his nose, taking in the extra oxygen that the nasal cannula provided. “I already lost my Parents and then Uncle Ben. I didn’t want to lose you too. I can’t.”

Tony’s breath shook as his lip threatened to do the same, chest aching so badly with the grief filling up his chest. “You think I want to lose you? God, Peter, I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to you. Don’t ever do that again. You don’t have to take bullets for me, you’re already my hero.”

Peter smiled, eyes shining as he squeezed his mentors fingers. He was okay, he was alive but Tony would not be letting him go for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this is rambly or confusing or whatever I'm super tired and I haven't actually read through it to see what I've written so I don't really remember whats in the story but...I hope you like it??


End file.
